


Hit Two Birds With One Stone

by Eccentric_Red



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Child Abuse, Dark Magic, Manipulation, Medieval, Mixed ages, Multi, Murder, No muggles, Oppression, Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-05 12:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11578368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eccentric_Red/pseuds/Eccentric_Red
Summary: "To not possess magic is unnatural." - Those were the teachings of their world. A world filled with Witches and Wizards. Where Squibs were persecuted.Each person has a story.





	1. Neville Longbottom

**Author's Note:**

> This is a complete AU. Imagine a world where Muggles don't exist and you have this.  
> They'll be changes to characters' blood types, but some things will mirror canon.  
> I did research medieval slang, but it isn't perfect, and since this is an AU I didn't follow it exactly to the letter.
> 
> (thank you GallonoftheStuff and RedButterfly for being my betas)

_Neville Longbottom_

* * *

 

_14th Century,Briton_

The air was stuffy and dirty. The houses were built close together, with leaking roofs and stained bricks, moss growing in the cracks like a fungus. The streets were overcrowded.

Shabbily built market stalls selling fake Dragon eggs and broken wands lined the streets in the city square, gathering large crowds. A few young wizards in a back alley levitated a gaunt looking Squib in the air while passing Aurors turned a blind eye.

Further down the street people went to Fate's Temple to sacrifice small animals at the altar in hopes that it would atone for their sins, so afterwards they could go to the pub with a clear conscience.

The Leaky Cauldron was popular for its somewhat clean rooms and beer, low ceiling and a large fire that warmed up the room, with the odd singer in the background trying to calm down an impending brawl. But a few slips of Calming Draught in their drinks did a better job on most days.

"Nev, are you even listening?"

Neville's head jerked up, returning his attention back to his betrothed. Hannah fixed him with an exasperated look while her hand wiped down the bar counter with a wine-stained rag. She was a true Fairhead, with a wide forehead, pale skin, soft blue eyes and fair, wavy honey-blonde hair, all gathered up in a scarf tied around her head.

"Uh, sorry…" He gave her a sheepish smile.

Frustration flashed in her eyes. "Are you even taking this seriously?"

"Of course I am," Neville tried to placate her, his smile vanishing. "I just…you know what I'm like."

Hannah bit down on her bottom lip, her brow creasing in worry, as he hesitantly covered her hand with his. "You can't do this Nev - you'll die." Her voice wavered.

He swallowed a lump down his throat. He didn't want to have the same argument with her; it never ended well. "This is something I have to do, Hannah."

Hannah looked at him gravely, removing her hand from under his. "You know old man Tom, you know what he said to me two night ago?"

Neville shifted in his seat, looking at her attentively. "What did he say?"

"He wants us to take over the Leaky Cauldron," she said anxiously. His eyes widened, his lips parting as he tried not to gape. Owning a real Inn? That made you almost part of the elite! You didn't just hand it over to just anyone.

Neville felt a swell of happiness, his lips twitching into a smile. "Is he serious?"

The anxiousness left Hannah's face. "Well it isn't like he has any family left….and he always liked you." She held his hand tightly. "Nev, think about it, we could start a family…just forget Bellatrix-"

He flinched at the name, drawing his hand back, his stomach twisting painfully. "I should get going..."

Neville slipped off the bar stool, trying not to look at Hannah's desperate expression.

* * *

"Keep your guard up, Longbottom!" Mad-Eye barked, taking a large chug of wine as he sat on his chair. His magical eye swirled around the courtyard, his robes mismatched and patched.

The training yard was small, surrounded by tall houses, with plants growing along the sides and partly broken training dummies stuffed in each corner.

Neville ducked out of the way of Tonks' attack, her blunted blade hitting the dirt. He raised his sword. Tonks was six years older than him;she had more experience fighting and had survived three mass death matches before retiring early to marry and have a baby; she could probably kill him with one strike.

Their swords clashed. Neville tried to land a few kicks and punches but Tonks was fast and lithe, so it was hard to knock her down. And as much as he tried, he wasn't fast enough - his frame was too large, and years of malnutrition kept him from being considered a strongman or having a knight-like body.

"Strike her now!" Mad-Eye made a frustrated sound.

Neville still managed to knock Tonks Off her feet, his sword pointed at her neck, her chest rising up and down as she breathed heavily. She smirked wryly, looking up at him. "Not bad."

Neville smiled and her smirk widened. Her leg swerved out, kicking him hard in the stomach.

"Fuck," he hissed in pain. He was knocked back, winded, as Tonks jumped to her feet, snatching sword back up to strike him. He winced when the blade hit his padded ribs, but he remained standing.

Tonks swiped behind his leg, knocking him to his knees, her sword prodding his neck. "But when you knock me down, make sure I stay down."

Then she used her elbow to knock him out.

* * *

"You won't be able to use magic," Hannah reminded him, watching him prepare dinner in his gran's old house. Hannah came up beside him - he was sitting on a stool, skinning a rabbit.

"I know." His hand shook, holding the blade tighter. According to the Gods, magic wasn't the way to test a man and woman's true strength. Or perhaps that was Hippogriff shite and the nobles just liked seeing a bloody brawl like the next wizard.

Hannah's gaze didn't waiver. "Okay, let's say you do win, you kill her, then what?" She looked at him searchingly. Neville swallowed a lump down his throat. "The Blacks are a powerful family, her sister is marrying the heir to the throne, they'll come after you and me," she tried to talk sense to him.

Neville closed his eyes, his stomach churning. He looked up at Hannah. He'd been thinking about this for a long time now, ever since Bellatrix had announced she'd be retiring once she married Lestrange, as was the law for female fighters - that this year's match would be her last.

His last chance to get justice for his parents.

His mouth felt dry. He took a deep breath, placing the half-skinned rabbit on the woven cloth on the floor. "I won't let them come after you…"

She looked at him in confusion, as if she was trying to understand, but she couldn't. "Just because it's legal to kill someone in combat, doesn't mean they won't strike back, they'll find a-"

"If you're not connected to me, they won't come after you. With Gran gone, you're the only thing I have left." Hannah cut him off when she touched his arm. He forced himself to look her in the eye, reminding himself that she deserved a better life,  she deserved someone  _better_. "Ernie Macmillan still has a soft spot for you…he's a good man."

Hannah jumped to her feet, staring at him in shock, her hand covering her mouth as if to stop herself from shouting.

The words felt clogged up in his throat. "I love you, Hannah….but I can't. Do you know what she does to Squibs? Do You know what she did to Hermione Granger, the Witch they had to send to the Healers?" He stood to his feet, trying to draw closer to her. "The King, Riddle, High Priest Fudge, they don't care and everyone else is too scared..." A large lump formed in his throat. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she shook her head desperately. "I-If I die, you'll be taken care of, and if I live, the Macmillans will keep you safe; the Blacks wouldn't dare upset them."

"If you loved me, you wouldn't do this!" Hannah finally spoke, her voice raw. "I don't want to be taken care of, I just want  _you_." She cupped his face, holding tightly - like she was trying to make him see sense. "Your parents wouldn't have wanted revenge, they would have wanted you to be happy," she said, her voice hitching from sobs. "Please,  _please_ , don't do this." She rested her forehead against his, her tears wetting his face.

He let out a shallow breath, his chest aching, his eyes feeling wet, and kissed her forehead. "I can't, I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I love you."

She pushed him away, clutching her stomach like she was in pain, before storming out of the small house.

* * *

Neville had dreamt about them every night for the past three years.

Some people said Frank Longbottom had been a fool; some said he had balls the size of a giant's.

Some people said he shouldn't have married that Squib Alice Smith, that since he was an Auror, he could have done better.

The King said Squibs were freaks, he said ' _How can a child not be born with magic? It's unnatural, that's what it is._ ' And a lot of people were scared of what they didn't understand.

When he was ten, he remembered all the girls wanted to be like Bellatrix Black; they said she was the fiercest noble warrior in all the kingdom, but when his father had arrested Bellatrix for torturing and killing three Squibs, suddenly everyone wasn't so sure Bellatrix was as perfect as she appeared.

But money could buy anything, even a nice unfair trial where Bellatrix was pronounced innocent by the King himself and Frank Longbottom was dismissed from the Aurors. A year later young Narcissa Black and Prince Anselm Grindelwald's engagement was announced.

Neville stirred in his sleep. His father's disgrace should have been enough compensation, but it wasn't, not for Bellatrix - she didn't forgive easily. He learned that night what kind of monster she was, what type of world he lived in.

He imagined his parents' faces, never happy, always screaming. That night he had been concealed under the floorboards in the cellar, notice-me-not charms surrounding him protectively like a blanket.

He heard the cold laughter that followed his parents' screaming and begging.

" _Crucio_."

Bellatrix said the spell with relish and passion, like she was in Zion, bathing in Fate's glory.

" _Crucio_."

Neville woke up with a start, soaked with sweat. A few rats skittered underneath his bed, the moonlight shining from the window.

The Aurors never even bothered to investigate it they already knew, but no one cared.

Hannah was right, his parents would have wanted him to move on, to try and get over these nightmares and start a family. But he couldn't do it, he couldn't close his eyes without remembering their screaming.

Gran had told him revenge wasn't justice.

But he couldn't keep living like this - it had to end.

* * *

Neville sat on a stool in the training yard, cleaning his worn, blunt sword.

"Could you kill her though?"

He almost jumped out of his skin, jerking his head around and finding Mad-Eye towering above him, both eyes fixated on him.

Neville swallowed a dry lump down his throat. The question felt like a tonne of bricks. "I have to, or she'll kill me." He Got to his feet.

Mad-Eye snorted, shaking his head. "It's suicide, Longbottom. She's a wolf and you're the lamb."

"Someone has to stand up to her," said Neville evenly, standing his ground as his mentor's good eye narrowed at him. "And whatever she throws at me, I can take it."

Whatever Bellatrix did to him, it would never equal how much she had made his parents suffer;  he owed it to them to be strong. He had to be brave, just like his father. Mad-Eye looked at him intently. "You're either the bravest or the dumbest lad I ever met," he said, letting out a low scoff. "Follow me." Mad-Eye gestured him to come, walking out of the training yard.

They entered a rundown-looking house, full to the brim with weapons; bows and arrows, maces, staffs, shields, spears and swords. The weapons were cleaner than the house.

Neville froze when he saw Mad-Eye pulled a glistening sword from a purple velvet cloth. The sword looked untouched and as sharp as a Basilisk's fang; the handle was tinted silver with ruby-red gems and detailed engravings. But more importantly, were the words engraved on the blade:

Godric Gryffindor.

One of the four original wizards, a legend and practical deity in The Holy Book of Fate.

How in the thirteen hells of Temptation did Mad-Eye have this sword!

Neville didn't realise he was gaping. Mad-Eye smirked, handling the sword as if it were light as a feather. "I thought the same myself when I laid eyes on it. The Goblins are a tricky lot, possessive too…."

Neville stepped closer. "How did you steal it?" _How are you not dead?_

Mad-Eye gave him a shrewd look. "You think I'm a thief, Longbottom?"

Neville's eyes widened as he held his hands up quickly. "No! No, nothing like that!"

Mad-Eye's lips quirked upwards as he presented the sword out to him. "This is the best sword you'll find here in Pendragon. Take it."

Neville hesitated, holding his breath before releasing it apprehensively. He took hold of the handle, and the sword seemed to glow in his grip.

Mad-Eye looked at him sternly, but there was a hint of sadness in his hard gaze. "Remember lad, she likes to play with her food. So be careful."

* * *

The rules were simple:

The last one standing was the winner. No magic was allowed, but all manner of weapons were permitted. Four people were placed in the stadium - sometimes six if the summer solstice was taking place.

Bellatrix was fast, but he had strength on his side. The sword of Gryffindor was at his waist and his armour was polished. He almost laughed when he saw his reflection in the male changing room's mirror; he looked like a knight in shining armour.

The other two fighters were Scabior and Greyback. Scabior had a feral look about him, while Greyback looked like a brute with sharp teeth.

A soft voice pulled him from his thoughts. "You look handsome."

He turned around. Hannah was there, dressed in a long, modest, clean dress she normally wore for temple prayer. There was a long fresh daisy in her hand. "Hannah," he breathed her name, stepping closer. His chest ached as he ignored Scabior and Greyback's leering looks.

He hadn't seen her in months; he didn't think she'd ever want to see his face again. "Here." She stuck the daisy in the gap of his collar. "Mum used to say that it was good luck…it's a stupid superstition…"

He held her hand. It felt rough and worn, smelling like strong wine. He smiled softly. "Thank you."

Her bottom lip trembled, as she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply, her lips warm and demanding. He closed his eyes and basked in the moment, wanting it to last forever.

Until the pressure of her lips lessened. "You're an idiot, but I love you." She rested her forehead against his, her eyes still closed.

He gave her a half-smile, his stomach twisting painfully. "I know, but you deserve better." He gazed at her tenderly. "I love you."

Greyback yelled at him to hurry up as the gates opened. Neville's stomach plummeted, like a basin of ice cold water had been poured over him. He looked at Hannah, and there was a resignation in her eyes.

He hesitated, before kissing her one last time and pulling away.

* * *

The sun was hot on his skin, his breathing laboured. Blood was leaking from his crown. He tried to remain focused.

Scabior was dead, and Bellatrix was in the middle of pulling her sword out of Greyback's chest.

Bellatrix looked at him like a wolf would its prey, gleaming crimson-stained sword in hand. She was dressed in coal-black, expensive armour, her tangled black hair tied up into a bun and her helmet tossed aside as if she thought she was invincible.

Thousands of people watched, some cheering, a small few screaming, the Weasley and Lovegood families being the most vocal in their pleas. Hannah was somewhere in the crowd too..."He's just a boy!" Molly Weasley screeched above the voices.

King Grindelwald watched on from his private box, gaze impassive. The crowned Prince and his betrothed Narcissa were on the King's right hand side. The royal advisor Tom Riddle, sat on the King's left, grey eyes glinting with dark amusement.

Neville kept his gaze locked on Bellatrix, holding his sword tighter, rage bubbling in his gut.

Bellatrix ran forward and their blades clashed. They were close, heads inches apart as they stared each other down. Recognition shone in her eyes, and a smile twisted onto her face. "Longbottom, isn't it?" she crooned, slashing her sword with viper-like speed. Neville kept his guard up. "I think I met your parents, didn't I?" Her voice as sweet as honey.

He gritted his teeth, striking back. She blocked his attacks, pivoting on the spot like this was some sort of dance, then struck his thigh with her sword, making a large gash. He ignored the pain, trying to hit her left leg.

She elbowed him in the face, breaking his nose.

"Ah! Now I remember!" Bellatrix chuckled, manoeuvring at a frightening speed. He flinched when her sword came crashing down near his head. "Aw, was the widdle boy upset when mummy and daddy went bye-bye?"

His eyes widened in anger. "Shut up!" His stomach twisted painfully. The hatred festered and grew inside of him.

She whipped out a knife and stabbed his left thigh. He screamed in pain while she laughed.

His wound burned, his body became unbalanced, but he forced himself to stay standing. He tried to stab her in the stomach but she pulled back, twisted smug smile still carved on her face.

She kicked him to the ground, circling him excitedly. Her smile widened and she giggled. "Your parents are my fondest memory, Longbottom. I put it on a shelf next to my Pensieve, you know," Bellatrix taunted, slowly dragging her sword down his leg, making another large cut.

He cried out in pain.

 _She likes to play with her food_.

Her pupils dilated as she looked at him with wild eyes.

Rage in its purest form washed over him. "Fuck off, you sick, inbred cunt."

The smile dropped from her face. It looked like he'd hit a nerve. She raised her sword.

He gathered all his strength to push himself up, grabbing her right leg and knocking her to the ground.

There was a collective gasp.

Her head hit the floor and he straddled her waist, the point of his sword hovering over her throat. Her breath hitched, as she stared up at him in shock, her sword and dagger just out of reach.

The blade touched her skin and he saw fear enter her eyes.

_Could you kill her though?_

"No!" a shrill voice screamed.

Neville looked up. Narcissa Black was standing on her feet, while her betrothed tried to pull her back. Neville kept his blade against Bellatrix's throat, while Bellatrix gritted her teeth, anger in her eyes as if enraged by Narcissa's outburst.

The stadium was silent.

"Stop this!" Narcissa implored to the King.

For the first time, something occurred to Neville. Narcissa Black was fifteen years old and her sister was about to die. Suddenly, Bellatrix became very human and not the monster who haunted his dreams.

Because right now, to Narcissa,  _he_  was the monster.

_Could you kill her though?_

Grindelwald ignored his future daughter-in-law, as Riddle whispered something in his ear. The King smiled coldly then stared straight at Neville, his gaze commanding.

"Kill her."

Neville's hands shook. Blood from his wound was dripping down his leg; the deep cut burned worse than ever.

"KILL HER!" the crowd roared.

Narcissa was crying, her eyes full of hate.

"KILL HER! KILL HER!"

Neville lifted his sword and Bellatrix's eyes widened.

"KILL HER! KILL HER! KILL HER!"

Bellatrix's arm twitched to her dagger.

Neville stabbed the sword down into the ground, an inch from her head.

She swiped up the dagger and stabbed him in the neck.

"NEV!"

The last thing he heard was an anguished scream, followed by a blinding light.

The daisy was stained with blood.


	2. Tom Riddle Jr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm going by the Middle Ages spelling, so Britain will be Briton. Also, Ealdorman is an older title for Earl
> 
> Thank you GallonoftheStuff, Trish and MaryandMerlin for Being my Betas.

_Tom Riddle Jr_

* * *

 

_14th Century, Briton_

The oak chair was uncomfortable. Tom stared at Lucius from across the small square table, the two of them in the dining hall.

Lucius uncorked some wine, filling Tom's goblet. "You talk of committing a great sin, Advisor Riddle."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Do I?"

The Malfoy heir's face was blank. "Kinghood is a birthright. The King is appointed by fate and to betray your King is the greatest of sins," Lucius replied smoothly.

"You speak the truth. Though I never took you as a God-fearing man?" Tom took a sip of his drink.

Lucius' thin lips faintly quirked upwards. "Many would fear for their eternal soul."

Tom crossed his legs, leaning back in the chair. "But what if Grindelwald had no claim to the throne?"

The other man stiffened, his grip tightening around his goblet. "I don't quite understand your meaning, Advisor."

"Are you familiar with Briton's history, Lucius?"

The blonde man bristled. "Of course…the French are not as ignorant as the English like to believe."

Tom's magic flared in warning – he would only tolerate so much outspokenness. Lucius flinched.

"My apologies, Advisor. The wine, it clouds my mind." A strained smile flashed across the Malfoy heir's face. "I confess I am not as entirely fluent in the history as I would like to be."

"A forgivable offence," Tom replied lightly. "Very well; Grindelwald's grandfather conquered Briton 160 years ago. Before that, our country was governed by The Founders Small Council, made up of the descendants of the Original Four Founders."

The Royal Advisor took another sip of his wine while Lucius listened attentively. "The Grindelwalds killed nearly every descendant of the Original Four they could find and they made sure not to marry into any of the four families, meaning they had no claim to take the throne." Tom shot his host a pointed look. "So how can a king with no birthright be a king at all?" he asked, waiting patiently for Lucius to digest this and reply.

Lucius smiled coldly. "He is a false king."

There was a brief silence.

Tom drained his beverage and placed the goblet on the table. "What do you want most in the world, Lucius?" He clasped his hands together on his lap.

Lucius paused as he stared down into his goblet, hunger entering his eyes. "There are a great many things I want, Advisor, but they are all things that fade," he stated, finally looking up to meet Tom's gaze. "My father is upstairs dying from Dragon pox. What will his legacy be? A fleeing Frenchman with only gold to his name?" Disdain flashed in his gaze. "A Malfoy deserves better. I want a title and a legacy."

Tom smirked. "You aim high." He shrugged. "Very well, I always reward loyalty. However, are you sure there isn't something else you desire?"

Lucius' jaw tightened, a glimmer of surprise in his eyes. There were a great many things the Malfoy heir was good at hiding, but love and lust? Tom shook his head. Every man had a weakness and Lucius was no exception.

"Did you know, Lady Narcissa has had her first blood, just three days prior? She's a woman now, all ready for bedding," Tom informed him callously. Lucius cringed. "So tell me, how far are you willing to go to get what you want?"

* * *

The King's Royal advisor, Tom Riddle,  _despised_  Sundays - Temple prayer in the morning was painfully dull. The only thing that held any interest for him was the building itself, with its gold, painted walls, detailed stained glass windows and carvings—placed in a diamond shaped insignia—of the Sun, Moon, Saturn and Jupiter.

"…The most unnatural thing in this world is a child born without magic," the High Minister Fudge preached to them all, the sound-magnifying charm causing his droll voice to boom unpleasantly.

Tom glanced to his side; as customary, he and the other nobles sat at the front, while the peasants remained a respectable distance behind them – most were forced to stand at the back.

His Majesty King Gellert Grindelwald's eyes were dull from boredom. The crowned Prince Anselm was sat on the King's right-hand side; his betrothed, Narcissa Black, quietly beside him.

"…Magic is a force that surrounds us! It is in our blood and nothing is more sacred than blood," Minister Fudge drawled, holding up the Holy book of Fate to emphasise his point. "We must not forget that when we offer our sacrifices to the Lords above."

Tom felt his mind starting to grow numb. Did people honestly buy into this drivel? He would never understand religion, but he could believe in the preachings on destiny and birthright.

He had just turned thirty and the heir of Slytherin would no longer remain in the shadows.

His eyes flickered over to the King for a second, before they moved onto Lucius Malfoy.

The pair of icy grey-blue eyes met his and Lucius gave an ever slight nod of understanding. Tom glanced back at the podium, watching as Fudge continued to ramble on.

* * *

"James Potter is the one rumoured to be leading the rebellion," The King addressed Tom, the two of them in the King's council chambers. "It seems Dumbledore's spirit lives on." The King's gaze was almost wistful.

"Be that as it may," Tom drawled, coming to stand at the King's side. "This Order of the Phoenix, as the rebels are calling themselves, are gathering more allies. They want to stop the persecution of the Squibs."

The King slammed his fist against the wall. "Why they sympathise with such disgusting creatures is beyond me."

Tom smiled grimly. "Indeed. But regrettably, Lady Lestrange's murder of Alice and Frank Longbottom has only incited more anger among the Squibs."

Grindelwald grimaced.

After killing a few Squibs and Squib-offspring, Bellatrix was in disfavour with the public. Frank Longbottom was something of a Squib sympathiser; even going so far as to marry one. By killing him Bellatrix had only worsened the situation and caused more outcry among the Squib community.

"Be that as it may, the Order must be crushed swiftly and quietly," Tom said.

Grindelwald glanced at him warily from the corner of his eye. "I agree; we'll need someone to infiltrate them."

Tom nodded, his gaze falling pensively on the tapestry that hung on the wall. The tapestry was of the Goddess Fate, a beauty with fair-skin and long dark hair, holding a balanced scale.

"They won't accept strangers; peasants are…cautious to outsiders."

"Who do you suggest?"

"James Potter is quite close friends with Remus Lupin...Mrs Lupin was once one of our most loyal fighters."

The King frowned. "That doesn't reassuringly mean that I can trust her?"

Tom smiled disarmingly. "Her mother, Andromeda, is in prison for being unable to pay her late husband's debts, we don't need her  _trust_  to control her."

* * *

The Fates Temple was very different in the evening; the 500 pews stood empty, except for a few lone worshippers who came for personal prayer.

Tom grimaced when he knelt down in one of the pews.

A slender woman in plain purple robes soon came to kneel beside him, a grey scarf covering her short pale blue hair. Tom's face became blank, making sure not to appear to acknowledge her. "Mrs Lupin, your hair is blue," his voice was low and cold.

The woman made a small squeak, her hair changing to a light brown. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "Sometimes when I'm nervous it goes a bit-"

"Did you get the message?" His eyes narrowed impatiently. Nymphadora Lupin (nee Tonks) may have once been a fine combat warrior, but she was as clumsy as a Flobberworm! Her shape-shifting abilities were one of her very few good qualities. After all, Polyjuice potion could be somewhat unpredictable at times.

Lucius had said she was the best shape-shifter he could find; how pitiful.

"Yes," Tonks replied solemnly. "…I've already found the Squire."

"Good. You'll be contacted within the next three days." Tom reached into his robes, pulling out a spherical bottle with emerald green liquid inside. "It's called the Drink of Despair," he said quietly, fighting a smile that threatened to slide onto his face. He placed the potion in front of his knees on the stone floor.

A troubled look flashed across Tonks' face, her gaze focused ahead.

Tom sighed deeply. He used his finger to draw a triangle, signalling the end of his prayer. "Give the Prince my regards." He stood up, not giving her a second glance, eyes and left her kneeling in front of the pew.

* * *

The city went into mourning when the tragedy struck.

The crowned Prince Anselm was killed in a hunting accident.

The King killed the messenger boy.

Tom met Tonks in a dark alley the following night. "Did you deal with the Squire?"

A grim look was etched on Tonks' face, her eyes sunken and tired. "I made it look like a suicide."

He smiled. "Good girl."

Tonks snarled at him.

"Tell Mr Potter he'll be receiving a visit from an old friend – oh and tell your husband to keep his pack of wolves in line, people are starting to notice," he instructed.

Tonks nodded stiffly. "I will..." She gritted her teeth. "When will I be able to see my mother?" Her eyes darkened.

Tom's eyes filled with frustration. He sighed. "The only reason The King believes you are loyal is because we have your mother as blackmail. If I remove that bargaining piece, then he'll assume you've gone rogue, do you wish that, Mrs Lupin?"

Tonks lowered her gaze. "No."

Tom's eyes became icier. "Then continue to play your part and your mother will be set free."

The shape-shifter nodded in resignation.

Pawns could be such a handful sometimes.

* * *

Bellatrix stroked his chest as the two of them lay in his bed, tangled up in green silk sheets.

"Will you let me torture him before he dies?" she whispered in his ear. Her dark frizzy hair tickled his cheek.

He looked at her sternly, the dark magic caressing them both. "No, it needs to be done quickly, Bella." Tom smiled coyly, stroking Bellatrix's cheek tenderly – she melted into his touch, like a House-Elf yearning for praise; how pathetic.

Bellatrix scowled. "He is a false king, a traitor; let me make an example out of him." She looked at him imploringly.

His smiled tightened. " _No_ ," he said, darkly. He grasped her jaw, squeezing painfully. Bellatrix tensed. "Are you questioning my orders, Bella?"

She gulped. "Never, my lord," she replied reverently. The former warrior leant into his painful grip, kissing his hand. "My loyalty is to you alone."

He let go of her jaw, eyeing her curiously. How far did her devotion stretch? What was she willing to sacrifice? He smirked.

"Prove it."

* * *

Bellatrix never did anything in halves.

Ealdorman Cygnus and his wife Druella Black's cold corpses were found alongside their cousins, Walburga and Orion Black.

The Aurors reported that their ageing House-Elf, Kreacher, had poisoned them – the elf had thought the poison in the upper cabinet was milk.

Fifteen-year-old Regulus Black was now head of the family (since his traitor older brother had been disowned three years prior).

Tom soon found Regulus was very eager to please.

* * *

James and Lily Potter didn't like Tom very much, a feeling which was mutual.

"We're not your hired assassins," Lily said firmly, her green eyes as hard as flint.

"Mrs Potter, freedom comes at a cost," Tom's eyes landed on the bump in her stomach—the redhead protectively held her large belly—and he smiled at her pleasantly. "How else are we meant to better the world for future generations?" He sighed in exasperation. "When we allied together, I thought you understood that?"

James' eyes narrowed, his hands curling into fists. "The children of those nobles are innocent. Now get out."

Tom smothered his growing anger. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mrs Potter's bulging stomach; how easy would it be to rip her open and drag the foetus out? Just to see the absolute horror and devastation on the Potter's faces – he almost smiled but restrained himself.

"Bellatrix was a child once too," Tom said softly. James gritted his teeth, his face heating up in anger. "Mrs Potter, is it correct that your parents are no longer with us?"

That sparked a candle. "Get out of my home!" James shouted, withdrawing his wand.

Lily closed her eyes, willing her tears not to fall, then let out a shallow breath. "We will not murder children," she said calmly.

_What a pair of idealistic fools!_

James squared his shoulders and stepped in front of Lily – who already had her wand drawn.

A hint of red shone in Tom's eyes. "Mr Potter, I think you should calm down, or have you forgotten who's been keeping this organisation afloat?"

James let out a hollow laugh. "So what, you think just because you've helped us out a few times that you own us?" The Head of the Potter family took a step closer to him. "We may have needed your help in gathering information about the King, but we're not your puppets."

Tom smiled crookedly. "How curious. Tell me, Mr Potter, how much do you trust the men in your company?" James became tenser. "Because loyalty is quite a fickle thing."

"Mr Riddle, I think you should leave," Lily ordered, her eyes swimming with suppressed rage. She placed a hand on James' shoulder. "Or I might just forget my manners."

He held back his magic as it flared dangerously. They had no idea who they were dealing with.

Tom looked at them both intently, then said in an unnervingly calm voice. "…Very well, it appears our allegiance has come to an end."

_They were fools, pitiful, weak fools._

The dark wizard smiled at them thinly, taking a brief look around their humble little home. "I'll let myself out."

* * *

It had been a mistake allying with the Order of the Phoenix. Tom had thought he'd be able to corrupt and perhaps sway them down a darker path. The Potters turned out to be more stubborn than he'd anticipated.

But it wasn't like Tom needed them anymore. He'd only needed them as a distraction for the King, something to spark resentment from the peasants and lower the King's approval.

"My Lord." Lucius bowed to him. They had decided to meet in the underground Crypts of the castle. Grindelwald was still busy trying to crush The Order—which had only sprouted like weeds—to notice the treason happening under his very nose.

Tom stayed in the shadows as Nagini curled around his leg; he gently stroked her skin. "Did you find them?"

Lucius kept his gaze lowered. "No, my Lord. They must have have been sent a warning beforehand."

But who would dare...? Wait...the Shape-shifter! Oh, she would pay dearly for her betrayal, he'd make sure her death was  _slow_ , of course, he'd kill her last after he made her first watch her husband, son and mother suffer.

Tom gritted his teeth, his grey eyes changing to red. "Didn't I tell you to not let them out of your sight!"

Lucius flinched, bowing even lower. "I-I did, my lord, we placed Anti-Apparation wards around their home, w-we watched them like hawks…but…they just…disappeared-"

" _Silencio. Crucio._ "

The head of the Malfoy family writhed silently on the damp floor. Tom's eyes were scarlet. A small smile played on his face as he watched Lucius squirm.

Yes, allying with the Order had been a grave error on some part, but he'd deal with them at a later date. He still needed to kill the remainder of Grindelwald's kin and those who were most loyal to the King. Tom didn't have much time left to finally complete his plans; everything needed to click into place at the correct moment.

If Grindelwald died before his kin were dead, then one of them could seize the throne. All their deaths would need to occur within a short period of time.

He lifted the curse and the Silencio spell.

Tom looked down at the grovelling man; oh, what a change a few months made. The dark wizard was impressed by his work; he delighted in the fact that everything he touched broke.

"I'll have Baron Nott and Sir Crabbe search for the Order. I want you to find the Lupin family and Ms Andromeda." Tom frowned when something occurred to him. "I'll have the Lestranges keep a tighter watch on Lady Narcissa - they may only be cousins, but her delusions of family loyalty will cloud her senses."

"Of course my Lord." Lucius gingerly rose to his feet. "…But I can assure you, Lady Narcissa would never be so reckless."

Ah, trying to protect his beloved, how  _revolting_. Why did love make men fools? Tom was unpleasantly reminded of his whore of a mother.

" _Silencio_."

Lucius stiffened, his eyes filling with fear.

" _Crucio_."

Tom's servant collapsed to the floor, writhing and squirming like a headless chicken.

* * *

"Remember, you have thirty minutes." Tom handed the Polyjuice potion over to Bellatrix.

The witch nodded, smiling wickedly. "Yes, my Lord." She practically purred out the title.

He hid his sneer, keeping his expression blank. Bellatrix drank the potion. Before his eyes, she transformed into a lithe, angel faced boy who looked around seventeen.

"You remember the Squib's name?"

Bellatrix wrinkled her nose – which looked ridiculous on the boy's face. "Nigel Wolpert." Her voice sounded unusually soft.

Tom handed over the small bag of money. "Make sure to show him this, so he thinks the brothel owner was paid."

* * *

Ah, Bellatrix, she was a prime example of how love turned the strong into weak willed buffoons.

It had been so easy,  _painfully_  easy.

They had burst in to find Bellatrix (Polyjuice potion gradually wearing off) straddling a naked Grindelwald. The former King's throat was slit and the blood stained dagger was in her hand.

He'd brought along three guards, Baron Nott and Head Auror Dawlish as his witnesses. He had told them he had heard word of a plot to assassinate the King, orchestrated by the remaining Blacks who were looking to make a grab for power.

When Tom had pointed his wand at the dark witch, only then did realisation shine in her eyes.

" _Stupefy_."

Bellatrix fell on top of Grindelwald's warm corpse.

* * *

Tom didn't understand why some people found murder unnatural.

When he was sixteen and had killed his pathetic Squib of a father, the murder had never felt so right.

Some people didn't deserve to live; it was that simple. People were like chess pieces; they each had a certain role to fulfil and there were only a certain number of pieces you needed to play the game

The King's body had still been warm when Tom denounced the Order of the Phoenix as traitors.

Tom stepped onto the podium, the wind brushing his green and black robes. All eyes were on him as if he was the answer to all their problems, and the sad fact was that he was their only answer.

The Royal family was dead.

He was the last legitimate descendant of the greatest of the Original Four, Salazar Slytherin.

It was  _his_  birthright to rule over Briton.

And they ate it up like the mewling pigs they were.

* * *

The next time he addressed the people of the city, they were cheering, as all were gathered in the Temple for his coronation.

Newly appointed Ealdorman Lucius Malfoy stood at his right side. Narcissa hung onto Lucius' arm like he was her lifeline.

Tom decided to forgo the crown; it would send the wrong message. He was kneeling in front of the altar, reciting the sacred oath, before High Minister Fudge finally addressed the crowd.

"Do the people of the land want such a ruler?"

There was the tiniest second of hesitation.

"We wish it and grant it!" The people replied in unison.

Tom got to his feet and smiled at them. "Thank you, Minister Fudge," he said, the blood red cloak heavy on his shoulders. The room fell silent. "But I fear such titles as king are too…archaic."

Some people in the crowd started to look confused and nervous.

His smile stayed stuck in place. "…I am your Lord protector; this is the dawn of a new age, where any man, rich or poor, may be remade into something greater." There was a low murmuring of excitement. "I have been reborn; therefore Tom Riddle is no more - only Lord Voldemort remains!"

If they were shocked or afraid, they hid it with thundering claps and praises.

* * *

The cells beneath the castle were cold and infested with Dementors.

He almost didn't recognise her when he arrived at her cell. In only four days, she'd changed so much. Her hair was greasy, her eyes sunken, making her face look gaunt and skull-like.

She looked withered and frail.

When she looked up at him, her eyes shone with despair.

He twirled the Elder wand in his hand; it wouldn't work for him.

"Bella...didn't I warn you to be more discreet?"

She didn't utter a word.

He sighed deeply. "You made it too easy." Nagini trailed down from the low ceiling and then slithered through bars of the cell. "…Any last words?"

Bellatrix's eyes narrowed in anger, then she spat at his feet.

Nagini lunged at her, while Voldemort passively looked on. He smiled when he felt the Elder wand's magic stroke his own.

And just like that, the last piece slid into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is a side piece, so I'll be updating it infrequently whenever I get inspiration to do a chapter. I do have a ch 3 in the works, since this series will be very Day in the Spotlight and characters will be tagged as the chapters progress.


	3. Luna Lovegood

_Luna Lovegood_

* * *

 

_14 th Century, Briton_

The underground hall in The Fates Temple was very crowded today because of the rehearsal. It was packed with around 200 or 300 young girls between the ages nine and twelve, all the girls were standing in the empty hall wearing their nicest clothes.

The Sisters of the Temple spoke in hushed voices as they waited for the Grandsister to arrive and conduct the rehearsal.

Among the many young girls, Luna Lovegood smiled to herself as she daydreamed. She was near the front of the crowd, just behind the better-off folk in front. Right next to the stone walls which had patterns of runes on them, protective wards to keep evil at bay.

Luna smiled, dusting off some dirt from her bright yellow frock. Daddy had made sure to wash her blonde hair the night before, so it was shiny and cleaner than usual, although it was still straggly and tangled at the ends. Not that she minded, though.

The bony girl next to her with a round face, dark skin, and bushy hair whispered something to her. “How much longer will she be?” Her voice was so meek Luna barely heard her.

Luna glanced at her with an unfocused gaze, twisting the ends of her hair around her fingers. “I’m not sure.” Then, she frowned, considering something. “Perhaps she has forgotten, it happens time to time…” Luna smiled while the girl frowned. “I suspect Wrackspurts are to blame.”

“What?” The girl’s frowned, was an odd expression on her face, like a nervous tick. “What are—?”

 “Hem, hem.” A high pitched cough caught their attention.

The rest of the children and Sisters grew silent.

 Luna looked towards the front.

At the top of the steps, there was a squat woman smiling down at them; her pale maroon robes were not as plain as the other Sisters of the Temple’s.  Her smile was odd, like a toad, and she was standing in front of the strange tapestry of a fair woman nursing two babies at once.

“Welcome… Children,” she greeted sweetly. “I am Grandsister Dolores Umbridge and I’m very happy to be here with you all…” She began descending down the steps, getting closer to them. “Now, can any of you dears tell me why we are all gathered here today?”  There was silence; the girls shared uncertain looks. “Anyone?” she repeated a little more sharply.

Luna’s brow furrowed for a second, wondering why they didn’t know the answer. Everyone more or less knew something about the ceremony. It involved the drinking of wine and then an extremely long teaching about the celebration. Luna hadn’t attended one properly but she’s seen glimpses of it through the crack of the Temple doors. There was always some type of music that filtered outside, so everyone around knew of the celebration, yet the girls here were being as silent as mice, like they didn’t know the right answer...

Were the Wrackspurts spreading…?

Luna raised her hand to answer, catching the Grandsister’s eye.

“Yes, child?” Grandsister smiled even more sweetly.

“To celebrate fertility,” Luna said brightly; that was what the ceremony was named after all.

The Grandsister nodded in approval. “Very good.” She clasped her hands, looking meaningfully at all the girls she passed. “Fertility. The very reason why you all are here,” she laughed musically; the other Sisters laughed quietly and the girls just stared. “…Fertility and Fate are two of the same. They are the future, the present, and the past, the pillars of life. The reason you are here today is to rehearse a wonderful ceremony that celebrates you entering womanhood.”

One of the girls at the back raised her hand.

Grandsister Umbridge’s smile twitched. “Yes…?”

“But, I’m not a woman yet. Ma says so,” the girl said, her voice was very gruff.

The Grandsister laughed a high pitched laugh. “Of course, but as I was saying, it’s your _fate_ we’re celebrating.”

Luna’s brow furrowed, looking around she saw that many of the other girls looked confused too.

“What’s that mean?” another girl, a stocky one, yelled out.

The Grandsister raised a hand, the smile fixed on her face. “It means all of us become women.” She paused to let out a small chuckle. “And our purpose is to create the future.”

The stocky girl opened her mouth. “So—“

Grandsister Umbridge ignored her. “We celebrate fertility because without it there would be no future,” her voice grew solemn, and her smile dimmed at the edges. “None of you would even be here today if your mothers hadn’t married and put their families first.”

Luna and the rest of the girls were silent, some looking at each other. It sort of made sense… but it sounded strange.

Then, at the front, the local Inn owner’s daughter called Pansy, a pug faced girl who wore a clean purple dress, raised her hand.

Grandsister Umbridge looked at her, smiled sweetly and then cleared her throat. “…Yes?”

Pansy lowered her hand and stuck her nose out. “Why don’t you have children then?”

Gransister Umbridge’s smile dropped.

Some girls giggled.

Luna thought it was a perfectly valid question.

The other Sisters tensed, looking livid. One Sister, Sister Pince, even stepped forward. “Pansy Parkinson!” she admonished.

“Oh, it’s quite alright.” Grandsister Umbridge waved dismissively, smiling coldly as she approached the girl. “It may seem odd and hard to understand, but I am married to the Gods. My love is entirely devoted to them,” she spoke velvety, looking down at Pansy who shifted on the spot. “A woman cannot devote her life to the Gods and to her family as well; a sacrifice has to be made.”

Pansy scowled. “But, my mother—“

“Now, now, dear,” Grandsister Umbridge interrupted, shaking her head. “I would assume your mother is devoted to you and your father?”

“She is,” Pansy said quickly, eyes wide, and looking around.

“Then, how would a Sister of the Temple fulfil her duties to the Gods if she then had to rush home to her family to prepare supper?” Grandsister Umbridge chuckled, the sound echoed throughout the hall. “Now, while my purpose was to serve a higher calling, that is not the same for others.”

“So!” A girl at the back didn’t bother to raise her hand. “Is being a mother a most important thing? What about the soldiers who protect us?”

Grandsister Umbridge clapped her hands together. “The greatest joy is motherhood, but Fate sometimes calls on a select few to make a sacrifice in order to serve the Gods.” She smiled and stared at them intently. “Even a warrior in the fighting pits knows when to hang up her sword when a greater purpose calls.”

“Is that Zion?” a tiny blonde girl at the front squeaked.

The Grandsister looked at the girl and just smiled. “Well, they all have to go somewhere,” she said brightly. Some of the Sisters at the back exchanged a few looks. “But, most women understand that the best way they can contribute to our country is to bear children.” She looked back down at Pansy. “Does that answer your question, dear?”

Pansy’s cheeks flushed pink, her nose wrinkled into a deep scowl. “…Yes, Grandsister.”

Satisfied with her reply, the Grandsister nodded and walked towards the other girls.

Luna pondered on that. A family was important, but it seemed upsetting that you had choose one or the other. Her late mother had still managed to look after her and Daddy while conducting her wonderful experiments.

Luna tapped her chin and tilted her head. “But, why can’t the boys be devoted to the children while the mothers work?”

The girls and the Sisters all looked at her in alarm.

Grandsister Umbridge made a strained choking noise. “Uh hem, excuse me?”

Luna smiled, fluttering her dress back and forth. “Well, why do the girls always have to cook and clean? My daddy doesn’t mind cleaning and he knows how to cook as well,” she told them proudly. “And, he does all that and still works.”

When she’d finished, they were all silent.

Grandsister Umbridge blinked a few times, looking at Luna and then at the other Sisters. “My how strange.” Her smile was thin and not really all that sweet. “Your father must not sleep or eat.” She laughed, it wasn’t musical or smooth. The other Sisters smiled nervously. “What must your mother be doing?”

Luna’s smile faded, feeling a pang in her chest. “She died a year ago,” she answered quietly. “There was an accident with a spell—“

“Oh, of course,” Grandsister Umbridge interrupted, shaking her head. “That explains it, you poor dear.” She smiled like she was sad, but it looked off. “You _poor_ thing. Come here, come.” She beckoned her closer.

Luna’s shoulders tensed, hesitating, but as the girls at the front moved out of the way she moved towards the front, walking over to the Grandsister Umbrigde. Her thin boots tapped against the stone floor, the sound bounced off the walls until she stopped in front of the Grandsister.

Grandsister Umbridge's smile became sweet again. “He has taken on the burden of two parents, which is not the life the gods wanted for us.” She closed her eyes and shuddered. “Progress for the sake of progress must be discouraged or we lose sight of what the natural order is.” She looked down at Luna. “Your father is overworked… and stricken by grief. I doubt very much he is the right mind.”

What a rude thing to say.

 “Daddy _is_ in the right mind, he just…” Luna bit down on her lip, looking down and remembering how quiet he’d been since Mother’s passing. “He’s just sad that Mother is gone…”

“Death… is a cruel god,” Grandsister Umbridge said with finality, causing Luna to frown. “But, he comes to test us…” She looked Luna up and down. “…So we can learn from it.”

No, that wasn’t right. It was a contradiction.

Luna’s stomach twisted unpleasantly like Nargles were circling her. “But, Death isn’t meant to be cruel,” she spoke up, remembering the sacred text in the Founders’ Book. “’ _It does not take those we love to test us, or is intentionally cruel’_ , that’s what it says in the Founders’ Book. You know that.”

 _“Luna!”_ Sister Pince hissed.

“But, it’s true,” Luna insisted. She may not believe everything in the sacred text, but she still knew that saying the wrong thing wasn’t right; it would make a misunderstanding. “My daddy taught me how to read them properly.”

Grandsister’s smile tightened. “I think you’ll find I’ve memorised a great deal more than you, dear.” She loomed over her, but Luna was more curious than afraid. “I know _exactly_ what those verses are.” Her gaze turned cold. “In fact, I recall a verse saying a child who speaks out of turn is curse upon their house.”

Luna frowned because now the Grandsister was speaking out of context. “But, only if they speak out of disrespect and deceit,” she corrected firmly, tilting her head to the side as the Grandsister’s cheeks grew a nasty red. “And, it later says, ‘ _but a child who speaks with sincerity and respect is a blessing upon that house’.”_ Her mother used to quote that verse all the time.

“What arrogance,” Grandsister Umbridge said severely, shaking her head. “Do you think you a prophet, child?”

Luna’s brow furrowed, shaking her head. “No, I just know the verses,” she replied, shrugging. “I don’t know all of them, but I know the important ones.”

A few girls gasped and the Sisters looked almost terrified.

Grandsister Umbridge’s hands curled into fists, holding them against her chest. “How dare…” She closed her mouth, taking a deep shallow breath as she narrowed her eyes. “What is your name, girl?”

“Luna Lovegood, Grandsister,” she replied, feeling suddenly uneasy, although she tried to hide it with a small smile.

The Grandsister wrinkled her nose. “ _Lovegood_ ,” she repeated the name with unpleasantness. “Such arrogance is a sin, and sinners have no place in Zion.” Her voice rose, addressing the other girls. “Those who disobey Fate’s will and those who reject their duty are punished in the Thirteen Hells of Temptation.”

A lot of the girls cringed and shied away, while some of the Sisters shook their heads gravely, but a few looked scared.

Grandsister Umbridge’s eyes glared down at her in a damning way.

Luna’s gut twisted and her smile faded.

She may have spoken the truth, but it looked like Grandsister hadn’t liked that and her gaze was dark and frightening…

* * *

 

_‘I must not tell lies.’_

Luna stared at her bleeding hand while she was curled up alone on her bed; the words were freshly carved into her flesh. Her little room seemed darker and greyer, despite all the colourful painting on the wall that usually danced around happily.

She didn’t want Daddy to see, it’d only upset him.

…But, she’d have to tell him some of the truth, she guessed, since she was now banned from attending the Fertility Ceremony…

There was a knock on the door. “Luna?”

Luna chewed her lip and sat up, covering her scarred hand with a bright orange scarf. “Come in.”

The door opened and her father came in carrying a plate of fresh bread, making her smile. “Fresh bread will keep the Blibbering Humdinger’s at bay,” he said airily, sitting down next to her.

“Thank you.” She grinned and took a big bite out of the bread, it was still warm.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Daddy staring at her. He hummed to himself and tapped her crown. “There’s Nargles circling your head, causing trouble.” He smiled gently. “You don’t look yourself.”

She chewed slowly, rubbing her head and then swallowed. “They have been bothering me lately, but I don’t that’s why I’m…” Luna looked down. “At the rehearsal…Grandsister Umbridge banned me from the ceremony…”

“Why?” Daddy sounded unusually alarmed and confused.

She looked at him, his blue eyes searching hers. “Because… I think she must have Wrackspurts in her head because she was saying the wrong verses from the Founders’ Book.” Luna shook her head, trying to smother the unpleasant feeling in her stomach. “And, she didn’t like it when I told she said the wrong thing…”

“Ah…” Daddy seemed to understand. He closed his mouth for a moment before he opened it again, wrapping an arm around her. “Well, Luna, some people are very closed-minded, and Wrackspurts aren’t always to blame…” He smiled warmly, kissing the top of her head. “You did the right thing trying to help her and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Luna flexed her fingers, looking down at her covered hand and then took a large bite of the bread to soothe her nerves. When she swallowed it, she looked back at him.  “Wizards are strange folk, Daddy. There are so many rules, and the priests and sisters think we all have to believe the same thing.”

Daddy smiled sadly. “They can be narrow-minded folk, Love…” He shifted on the bed to face her more properly. “But, don’t you listen to them,” he said, smiling brightly. “You’re a great deal cleverer than half of those novices combined.”

Luna smiled, feeling a warm fuzzy feeling in her stomach. “Thanks, Daddy.”

It didn’t stop the cuts on her hand from hurting but it was enough for now.


	4. Narcissa Malfoy

_Narcissa Malfoy_

* * *

 

_14 th Century, Briton_

Narcissa rather liked Malfoy Manor, it was grand and, though while large, it was a little cosy. She felt safe here. Everything was beautiful and alive, like from those folk tales she’d been told as a child.

Narcissa stared out of the window while she rested on the windowsill in her private chambers, resting her back on a plump cushion.

Her swollen stomach was shaped and highlighted by the folds of her green dress, the loose fabric showing off her pregnancy. Her blonde hair seemed dull with the lack of sun, and her pale skin was more washed out than usual.

The rain dribbled down the glass pane.

Narcissa closed her eyes and leaned against the window.  The glass felt cold against her forehead and she felt the moisture cling to her skin.

The Manor was located in the countryside, just on the edge of Pendragon, with farmlands that stretched towards the hills.

The peasants farmed the lands around them and there was a village six miles away.

It was quiet and peaceful, a nice change from the viper nest which was the Court of Pendragon.

 “Narcissa,” called her husband from the hallway. There were footsteps echoing, a muffled sound.

She opened her eyes and glanced at the oak carked door; the door had serpents carved into the polished wood. “Yes, Lucius?”

The doors opened, somewhat apprehensively, and Lucius came in. He was dressed in all his finery even though he had nowhere to go today. The king—she corrected herself— _Lord Voldemort_ had kindly given his Ealdorman three days leave in preparation for her birthing.

She made no move to greet her husband and just smiled blandly.

The corner of Lucius’ lips curved upwards. “The elves said you didn’t wish to leave your chambers,” he said, walking over to her. “Are you feeling alright, dear?”

Narcissa made an effort to sit up straighter as he sat down opposite her on the sill. “I am tired, nothing more,” she replied, taking hold of his hand. “It is daunting.” She looked down at her stomach. While becoming a mother at seventeen wasn’t anything new it was still frightening. The more experienced ladies had always commented on new mothers’ hips being too narrow.

Lucius kissed her hand. “Nothing will go wrong.” He leaned in and placed his and her hand on her stomach.

Narcissa hummed to herself, tracing the outline of her belly button with her finger. “Has there been any news from Court?”

His expression became closed off like it usually did when such talk was brought up. “Well, the southern side of Scotland is nearly conquered but there are rumours of the North and East joining forces.” Lucius sighed and leaned against the window pane. “Then, there’s the search for the Potters.”

She nodded along, staring out into the lush garden outside. “Hmm, yes, most disturbing.” Her gaze flickered back to her husband for a moment. “And, how are you, Lucius?”

A frown flashed across his face, surprised, but then he smiled faintly when he looked at her. “Quite well. There was a good harvest this year, so the peasants are mollified, as are our profits.”

“Good.” Narcissa smiled briefly but it didn’t last.

Lucius brow furrowed, he tilted his head slightly. She made sure not to look him in the eye. “Something’s wrong, tell me.” His voice grew firmer.

She held back a sigh and pondered her next words carefully. “I want to see Regulus,” she said, looking him in the eye, sitting up straighter.

He sighed a pinched the bridge of his nose. “Narcissa…”

Her gaze narrowed. “I don’t ask for much, Lucius.”

“Now isn’t a good time.” His tone sharpened, frowning at her. “Andromeda’s daughter’s family is still on the run—The Dark Lord still holds the Blacks in low regard.”

Her gaze grew colder. “I see.” She shifted away from him, just out of reach.

“Narcissa—“

“Do I ask for much, Lucius?” she asked coldly, looking away. “My mother should be here with me, by my side as I deliver _your_ heir,” she said scornfully. “Yet she rots in the ground. Forgotten.” Narcissa glowered at him and saw him grimace. “So, is it too much to ask that I see what’s left of my family?”

Lucius remained silent, curling his hands into fists.

* * *

 

She could feel her husband’s gaze burning into the back of her head from where he was standing; he was waiting by the steps, watching from a distance.

 “Do you like the roses, Regulus?” Narcissa asked her cousin, while she walked arm in arm with him through the gardens.

There was a beautiful bush of enchanted blue roses just up ahead.

Regulus smiled meekly, making his chin look weak and slack. “Yes, lovely.” His blue eyes remained fixed on the ground. His handsomeness was lessened by the dark circles under his eyes and unpleasant stubble around his jaw. He was gangly for his age as well, far too thin for a young man of fifteen.

His long black hair was somewhat greasy as well.

Narcissa twirled her slim wand in her other hand while she smiled at him. “I enchanted them myself,” she said, lightly. “It was that charm Mother always used.”

She felt Regulus stiffen. “How nice…”

She cast him a sharp look, observing him for a moment before she looked away. “Do you ever think about them?”  She whispered softly, staring at the flowers.

“ _Narcissa,”_ he hissed warningly.

Narcissa’s eyes narrowed, tightening her grip on his arm. “I know you think about it, about how they…” An ugly look flashed across her face. “Don’t you ever wonder at—?“

“ _Cissy!”_ Regulus stopped in front of the flowers, glaring at her. “The more you say the more…” He trailed off, grimacing. His gaze lowered to the ground. “We need to forget about it. They are dead, nothing will change that.”

“I need to know, Reg,” she said, digging her nails into his arm. “And, don’t lie to me and say you don’t care.”

He winced, looking up. “Of course, I care.” His voice softened, hands shaking. “There isn’t a day that I don’t think about them.” He closed his eyes and gulped. “But…” Regulus sighed deeply and opened his eyes to look at her. “We live in dangerous times,” he whispered, glancing at the trees behind her.

Narcissa felt a prickling on her skin, swallowing a lump in her throat. She loosened her arm from his and touched her stomach protectively. “I know…” She held her wand tightly. “But I keep wondering if Lucius…”

“He loves you, let it be,” Regulus insisted firmly, gaze shifting from side to side. “Lucius may be a lot of things but he isn’t…he wouldn’t betray you in that way.”

She folded her arms, eyeing him warily. “And how can you be so sure?”

Regulus paled, staring at the ground. “I…just let it be, Narcissa.” He avoided her gaze. “You need to be careful, it’s not like before, the Dark Lord is…he is very particular of who he trusts by his side.” His voice lowered, drawing in closer. “Even the smallest doubts would make him unnerved.”

“I know,” she replied testily, glaring at the flowers. “I’m not a child, Reg.”

Regulus sighed and grasped her hand in his. “Just be careful…”

Narcissa looked him up and down. He looked worn out and tired, jittery and afraid of his own shadow. Not at all what the heir to the Black family legacy should be.

She looked back over at where her husband was stood and saw him pacing back and forth restless. Narcissa glanced back at her cousin and nodded. “I will, Reg. I promise.”

He smiled faintly and kissed her hand. “Thank you.”

* * *

 

The evening meal was a quiet affair that night. The elves lingered in the background like shadows, dressed in their filthy rags, their toes shivering against the cold stone beneath their feet. The table was adorned with fresh food and candles provided light in the large dim dining hall.

Narcissa drank a sip of her wine, staring at Lucius from across the table.

Her husband cut his steak with a little too much force.

She raised an eyebrow and gently placed her goblet down. “Is everything alright, Lucius?”

He looked up, gripping his cutlery tightly. His lips thinned, letting go of his cutlery as he straightened up. “The Dark Lord knows of Regulus’ visit,” he replied tightly.

Narcissa clenched her hands, tensing, but she kept her expression passive. “Oh, I see.” She forced a smile. “Is there a problem?”

Her husband eyed her intently for a moment, his cold grey eyes unnerving her a little. She kept her mind closed off, even when she felt a mental prodding. Then after a second or two, her husband looked away and picked up his goblet. “He wants to visit, for dinner tomorrow…”

Narcissa’s composer cracked as a waved of fear coiled around her chest. “Visit? As in… privately?” It almost sounded insane, the most powerful wizard in the country wanting to dine with them. “Isn’t that a little…untraditional?”

Her husband grimaced. “So is forgoing the title as king for Lord Protector,” he remarked coldly, taking a large gulp of his wine. “The Dark Lord will do as he wishes, and we will obey those wishes no matter how untraditional they may seem,” his voice grew stern, domineering.

Narcissa pursed her lips tightly, narrowing her eyes. “Well, of course, I expected nothing less,” she responded even more coldly. “I will have the House-elves work day and night, everything must be perfect.” She smiled thinly before she took a sip of her wine.

Lucius watched her drink for a moment, studying her like she was a piece of art work. He did that often. His gaze thawed eventually, sighing to himself. “Just be careful,” his voice was quiet, tired. “The Dark Lord can be…temperamental.”

Her strained smile faded as she looked at him, weighing his words. “…My sister was often temperamental,” she spoke hesitantly, watching him warily. His gaze sharpened. “Even as a child, her mood would shift so suddenly…” She felt a tightness in her chest. “I learned very quickly how to approach her when she became…uneasy.”

Lucius tilted his head, looking her up and down before he lifted his goblet to his lips again. “The Dark Lord’s worse.”

* * *

 

“You dine like a king, Lucius.”

Lord Voldemort dabbed his lips with a napkin, relaxing at the head of the table. The plate in front of him was completely empty.

“Thank you, my Lord,” Lucius said, tilting his goblet to the Dark Wizard in a one-man toast.

Narcissa was as still as a statue, sitting next to her husband and holding her fork too tight. There was a permanent smile fixed on her face - and a sickly sensation in her stomach that diminished her appetite to the point she hadn’t eaten much of the meal.

Lord Voldemort smiled coldly, making his features seem almost unnatural. He was a handsome man by all accounts; a perfectly sculpted face with high cheekbones and dark wavy hair… but, his eyes were odd.

They looked almost red even, and his whole presence radiated danger as if he’d strike her for the smallest indiscretion.

She swallowed thickly when his gaze shifted to her. “You haven’t eaten a thing, Narcissa,” he said smoothly, leaning back in the grand chair. “Are you well?”

Narcissa forced her smile to stick, bristling a little. “Oh, yes. It’s just the little one.” She cradled her stomach. “He kicks quite a bit. It ruins the appetite.”

Lord Voldemort arched an eyebrow. “Oh, I see.” He briefly glanced over at Lucius, who just smiled politely, before returning his focus on her. “…Regulus tells me you have blue roses, Narcissa,” he said suddenly.

She struggled to keep her smile in place. “Yes, I do.” She nodded, glancing at her husband, whose smile had waned. “I’ve always loved the colour blue.”

The Dark Lord’s smile turned coy. “Maybe, you’ll show them to me?”

Her smile wavered, fighting the urge to look at her husband once more. “Now, my Lord?” she asked lightly, her cheeks hurting from smiling.

“Yes, now,” he said, his eyes glittering with something – it made her uneasy. “Lucius can prepare some drinks for our return.”

Lucius cleared his throat. “…Oh, yes, of course, my Lord.” There was a small trace of hesitance.

Narcissa’s stomach lurched, a strong taste of bile in her mouth. She didn’t let it show. “It would be a pleasure, my Lord.”

“Then, by all means…” The Dark Lord rose from his seat; they hurried to stand as well. “…Lead the way.”

He held out his arm, smiling at her charmingly.

Swallowing, she walked over to his side and took his hand in her own, trying not to recoil at its coldness.

* * *

 

The darkness made the edges of the garden look ominous and threatening, even with the enchanted lights lighting the way, the pale hues from the lights that hovered above the trees were meant to look tranquil, but now they seemed cold and cast long shadows.

Narcissa felt like there were needles being stabbed in her back as she walked alongside the Dark Lord, her arm trapped in his grip. The air was cold and she’d been too petrified to grab a cloak or cast a warming charm on her dress.

Lord Voldemort seemed perfectly at ease, walking towards the flower bed like he already knew the way.

“Have you agreed on a name for the child?” His velvety voice sharply regained her attention.

“Oh, yes…” She cleared her throat. “Draco.”

“Draco…” he let the name roll off his tongue. “That’s a star name.” He looked at her, his eyes looked odd in the poor light. “Your family?”

“Yes,” Narcissa replied stiffly. “…My Lord.”

The Dark Lord hummed and slowed down in front of the roses. He glanced briefly at the flowers and then uncoiled his arm from around her's.

She felt like a small bit of pressure had been relieved.

“You know, I used to wonder what Lucius saw in you.” He slid his wand out of his robe pocket and began to twirl it between his fingers.

 She kept her face blank, but suddenly found it hard to breathe. “…Excuse me, my Lord?”

 “Originally, I considered you rather dull.” He waved his wand and levitated one of the roses from the bush. “That’s the character you best play...” He smiled tightly. “…The docile little wife.”

Narcissa swallowed, clenching her jaw. She kept her eyes on him, wary of the wand in his hand. “I… I have a duty to my husband, my Lord,” she said steadily. “Certain… docility is expected.”

The Dark Lord smiled with a dark glint in his gaze. “Oh, I don’t doubt its effectiveness. He couldn’t even deny your small request to see your cousin.” He paused thoughtfully. “…Even though I did discourage it.”

The rose he was levitating was bobbing between them now. It made his wand look as if it were pointing directly at her chest.

She found it hard to swallow, her fingers trembled and she clenched them into fists. “I just desired to see my family, my Lord…” she trailed off, growing sicker the longer he stared at her. “It was not out of defiance.”

Lord Voldemort stared at her intently, before his gaze slid to a rose bush. “I can’t completely blame him, of course…” He smiled to himself, while her insides recoiled. “I assume he feels guilt, although he isn’t the most remorseful man, your husband.”

Had Lucius…?

She’d had her suspicions and it seemed quite obvious – very obvious. He had gained the most from her family’s demise, even a pretty bride…

But, that didn’t mean he was responsible.

Narcissa licked her lips, averting her gaze. Her heart thudded against her chest. “…He is also a devoted man, my Lord.”

The Dark Lord’s gaze found her face again. “Would you say you were devoted to your family, Narcissa?” he asked lightly, taking a step closer.

“Yes, my Lord.” She nodded stiffly, her eyes flickering back and forth between his face and the damn flower.

“And, your sister, did she share your devotion as well?” His tone changed a fraction, almost mocking, like the curl of his lip.

Her chest constricted painfully, flashes of dark memories threatening to brim to the surface; it was like they were being prodded out of hiding. “I like to believe so, my Lord…” she said, her voice measured.

He looked at her thoughtfully. “Then, do you want to know who murdered them?”

She froze, flinching back as if he had hit her. The baby in her stomach kicked, probably awoken by her anxiousness.

It wasn’t the first time she had sensed it - the crackling in the air that surrounded him. But, now, it felt like it was choking her.

Narcissa touched her stomach, feeling his gaze cut her open. Her hands felt icy cold, the frigid touch seeping through the thin fabric surrounding her stomach.

“I…” She tried to regain control herself. “I… but, I… I already know how they died.” Her throat hurt. “…They were accidentally poisoned by their… by their House-elf, my Lord,” she said with great difficulty, meeting his gaze,

Lord Voldemort blinked slowly, holding her gaze.

There was a long silence.

He looked at the rose, picking it from the air and examining it methodically. “Oh, yes, they were, weren’t they?” His tone had become bored again – he plucked a petal and carelessly tossed the rest to the ground.

She nodded, forcing a smile and trying to keep her composer. “Yes…yes, they were… my Lord,” she replied.

“It’s good that you survived.” He flicked the petal away.

There was a pause, and then she nodded. “I praise the Gods everyday for that mercy.” She felt a smile curl on her lip, taking in a deep breath. “And, that Regulus is in good health as well.”

He arched an eyebrow. “May it keep…” He smiled at her as if this conversation had been pleasant. “Well, let’s go see if your husband has finished preparing those drinks.”

He held out his hand for her to take.

She didn’t say a word when the battered rose was crushed under his boot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been wanting to do Narcissa's pov for ages. I hope the timeline isn't confusing, each chapter will be in correlation from the previous, unless stated otherwise.  
> There is an overall plot, but the plot is told through people reacting to how the world around them is changing. 
> 
> Next pov will be Lily's, and I am going to have so much fun with that one.


	5. Lily Potter

_Lily Potter_

* * *

 

 

_14th Century, Briton_

Harry slept soundly in his basket as Lily carried him outside into the garden, a basket of wet clothes floating behind her; some worn out wooden pegs resting on top.

She felt tired, even though the day had only just begun. Her dark brown hair was tied back into a bun, but the wind had loosened a few strands. The cotton dress she wore had seen better days – and her lips were dry.

The Potter's cottage was nestled at the bottom of a hill that overlooked the northern fishing village of Godric Hollow. It was peaceful here, very unlike Pendragon – the nearest neighbour was at the very top of the hill – she wasn't used to it.

Lily stopped next to the long line of rope that connected the cottage to the tree that was standing near the stone cobbled wall. She gently placed Harry's basket on the grass, smiling down at him, her tugging at the sight of his tufts of black hair peeking out from the blanket.

She brushed her hands on her apron and surveyed the sky. It was mostly blue with only a few clouds, but the wind was picking up.

She blew a strand of hair out her face before wandlessly lowered the basket of clothes on the ground and sighed.

Picking up a handful of pegs and one of James' shirt, she set to work.

She ached to use her wand, a simple drying charm. But, wands were expensive and would cause too many questions, especially in a small village like this where only the Healers and well-off village folk owned them.

The last time she'd tried to wandlessly dry wet clothes, she'd set Harry's blanket on fire.

Lily fastened the shirt to the line with the pegs and then repeated the same thing again with one of her skirts. All the while, she kept glancing down at Harry, and then sometimes back at the plain village in the distance.

It was quiet here… it was always quiet.

Lily hung up another shirt and then paused, rubbing her eyes. She stared at the plain village once again, and wondered how much longer they'd need to stay here... or, how much longer they could risk staying here until…

She looked away, swallowing a lump in her throat.

"Meera?" a musical voice called from behind.

Lily quickly looked behind her, where the road trailed up the hill. Asher was walking down it, carrying a woven basket underneath her arm and a smug expression her face.

Lily smiled faintly, brushing a loose hair from her face. "Morning, Asher." She waved.

Asher grinned, slowing down as she neared the wall. She was a skinny woman in her early twenties, with dark brown, cropped wavy hair that framed a round face. Her eyes were blue, and she was wearing long dull olive robes that were frayed at the edges.

"You 'eard the news?" Asher asked, stopping behind the wall.

"No…" Lily's smile grew crooked, as she took some underclothes from the basket. "But, no doubt you'll tell me."

Asher pretended to look aghast. "Don't pretend you don't like a good squiddle like the next."

Lily shook her head in exasperation. "You're more informed than many, Asher. I'll admit that." She started to peg up the underclothes. "Go on then."

Asher raised her brow. "Well…" She re-adjusted the basket, getting a better grip on it. "You know that poplolly near harbour?"

Lily frowned, but then started to nod along. "Eddie's girl?"

"Same. So, she's been keeping eye on harbour," Asher said, nodding at the village. "And, been taking notice of all the scholars docking in; southerners with fancier accents than yours—"

"My accent isn't—"

"I know, I know." Asher waved dismissively. "Don't make a fuss. Anyway, so word is, they been coming 'ere for experiments like." She frowned, looking around warily. "And, she said that one of them was trying to heal Dragon Pox by using magic and fish."

Lily dried her hands on her apron. " _Fish_?" Her brow furrowed. Asher nodded. "Well, did it work?"

Asher scoffed. "Like hell it did, gave the poor sod gills."

Lily's eyes widened. "Is he dead?"

"Pfft, he wishes he was." Asher rolled her eyes. "Nah, he just can't talk right, sounds like he's eating shit." Then, her gaze flashed to Harry. "Gods forgive my language."

Lily snorted, covering her mouth with her hand, but her smile peeked out from beneath her fingers. "You're terrible."

Asher smiled crookedly. "Just keeping folk informed, Meera, that's all." She edged closer to the wall. "I also heard a bit about Baker's wife near Markets, you know, that Marion Lass."

"I do." Lily nodded, taking James' robe from the basket to hang up.

Asher straightened up. "Well, turns out she's been wearing a glamour."

Lily's shoulders tensed, as she pegged up the robe. "How do you know?" Were more people actively searching now?

"Kept flickering, didn't it," Asher replied nonchalantly, shrugging. "Our Terence pointed it out and he's just a babe."

Lily swallowed, forcing a smile as she smoothed out the creases from the robe. "Why do you think she wears one?"

Asher snorted. "Because she's uglier than a hag, why'd you think?"

Lily laughed quietly, the tension easing from her shoulders. "Yeah, Yeah I suppose."

 _No one suspects anything,_  she told herself.

A frown flashed across Asher's face, but it was gone within seconds. "Well, it's how it is." She surveyed the hills. "I best be getting to market."

Lily forced a smile. "Have a good day."

"You too, and give James my love." Asher shifted the basket under her other arm. "Bye."

"Bye." Lily waved, watching the woman walk down the path towards the village.

Her smile faded. She glanced at Harry who was still sleeping and then the sky, sighing. "Please, just let it be nothing…" she murmured, brushing a hair out of her face.

A sharp screech from a crow made her jump.

* * *

By the time James got home it was already dark.

James let out a deep groan, collapsing in a rickety wooden chair in their small dingy kitchen. "Uh…" He kicked off his boots while Lily watched her nose wrinkled up; he stunk of, predictably, fish. His messy black hair was in shambles and his grey robes were worn out and wet with fish oil.

"Long day?" she asked, sliding a plate of food in front of him.

He groaned again, covering his face with his arm. "Oh, Lily…" he exclaimed, flexing his toes. "Moon flower, love of my life, the ray of sunshine to my dark—ness—thingy…"

Lily rolled her eyes and sat down opposite him. "What?"

He stared at her with wide hazel eyes and smiled brightly. "…Will you massage my feet?"

She scrunched up her face when she took one glance at his dirty feet. "Not a chance."

" _Lily,"_  he groaned, burying his face in the table. "I'm in pain."

Lily shook her head, folding her arms. "I'm not touch—"

There was a knock on the door.

Lily stiffened, while James shot up, the playful expression vanished instantly.

There was another knock.

Lily swallowed, fingering the outline of her wand, it was hidden in her apron pocket. She looked over at her husband, the both of them sharing a look.

There was a third knock.

James moved towards the door but Lily moved faster. "Wait," she whispered, raising her hand to stop him. "Just, wait…" She took out her wand and edged towards the door.

He reached out to stop her but she brushed his hand off. "Let me." He gave her a look, already withdrawing his wand from his robe.

Lily shook her head. "It might be nothing," she muttered and then turned back to the door. "…Hello…?" she called, walking over to the door.

It could just be nothing…

Her chest tightened, as she unlocked the door and opened it a crack and peeked through the gap.

"Medicine?" A young woman with smooth pale skin and a sharp chin was smiling at her. She was young, and her hair was wrapped up in a blue scarf that matched her eyes. Her robes were brown but very clean, like everything else…

Lily looked her up and down. "Excuse me?" She hid her wand behind her back.

"Do you need any medicine?" The woman said, shifting around to show a heavy looking basket. "I have a large selection."

Lily's brow creased, shaking her head. "We don't need medicine," Lily said, shaking her head and glancing back at James, who had relaxed a little.

The woman's smile didn't waver; it was still pleasant, unnervingly pleasant. "But…"

Lily shook her head again, beginning to close the door.

"…not even for the little one?"

The door shut with a thud and Lily froze.

How had she…?

She wrenched the door.

Nobody was there.

She was just staring at the blackness of the night ahead of her, finding nothing but silence and a cold breeze.

Lily slammed the door shut and faced James. "She disappeared," she said, scratching her arm, anxious. "Did you hear what she said?"

"No." James frowned, closing the distance between them. "She probably apparated…"

Lily shook her head. "She shouldn't have been able to get past the wards, not at this time…"

James wrapped his arms around her. "There must have been a crack or something… just a crack," he replied, rubbing her back. "It'll be fine."

Lily felt like there were worms crawling on her skin. "I need…" She gently pushed James away and brushed passed him. "I need to check on Harry." She ran a hand through her hair, ignoring James' concerned look.

* * *

The sky was dull today, making Lily's skin look washed out and paler than it was.

She pegged one of James' shirts on the clothes line while Harry's basket rested at her feet. He was napping again, peaceful as a baby could be; sometimes she envied that.

Lily sighed and looked over at the village; you could just about see the boats going out to sea. She lowered her hands and stared out at the sea, besides Europe, what else was out there? Maybe there was somewhere safe or…

She looked away and ran a hand through her hair, glancing over at the hills—

Lily froze.

Someone was there, standing on top of a hill; nothing more than a sharp silhouette against the sky. Her eyes squinted, trying to make them out despite the irritating sunlight, but it was impossible – they were just too far away.

Despite all this, Lily felt as if eyes were on her.

Her insides churned, her eyes transfixed as her hand slowly slid into her pocket, touching the cool wood of her wand…

She frowned, shaking her head and letting her hand fall to her side. She was overreacting, it was just—

A sharp hiss pricked her ears - and then a strangled screech.

Lily jerked away, looking down at her feet, catching a glimpse of a green serpent slithering away and...

Her throat sealed up in horror.

His mouth fixed wide, Harry was screaming and screaming, withering in his basket. Her eyes latched onto the large red mark already swelling on Harry's arm, blood soaking his pale side.

Lily threw her arms around him, lifting him out of the basket, her hands shaking. His right arm was very red, completely soaked red, staining her dress.

His screams were—She tried to focus.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," she chanted through her teeth, ripping her wand out as she helplessly cradled him, not even noticing the tears streaming from her eyes. She barely even registered rushing back into the house.

Harry's face was red, his eyes scrunched up in pure agony.

Her hands kept shaking, her wand; she couldn't - she tried to heal it, to stop the blood—do something to—Oh gods please, please don't…

She kicked the door open and placed Harry on the kitchen table.

"O-Okay, H-Harry… J-Just…" She broke off, her eyes raw, trying to heal the bite mark – one that was just getting worse and worse…

It just wouldn't stop bleeding. Red was pooling on the table and it kept going! The veins were, they were black and—

Clawing for a cloth, she pulled it tight just below his shoulder - trying to cut off the circulation, trying to slow down the snake venom, trying to...

She couldn't heal this.

The cloth secure, she gathered Harry back into her arms and ran out of the door.

* * *

By the time she got Harry to the Healers, he'd been writhing in agony for a while, bending his spine terribly.

There was bile in her mouth, her face flush and covered in sweat.

The Head Healer of the village, Bertram Coxswain, was examining Harry with urgency, his brown eyes darting back and forth over the small body. His grey hair soaked with sweat and his normally-white Healer robes stained with blood.

"I can stop the bleeding but…" Coxswain trailed off, sharing a grin look with his assistant; "The poison…it's…"

Coxswain's assistant — a skinny lad with dark hair - grimaced. His blue eyes focused, never breaking concentration as he tried to stop the poison spreading, muttering the charm under his breath and slathering a thick white potion of Harry's swollen arm.

"Will he live or not?" Lily snapped, her chest heaved, feeling sick when she looked at her baby.

Harry's screaming grew hoarser, weaker, every second. His skin was white like chalk and his green eyes were duller.

Coxswain swallowed loudly, placing his hands on the table as if to steady himself. "He's too young and the venom..." He averted his gaze, clenching his hands into fists. "I'm sorry, there's isn't anything I can do."

Lily couldn't breathe properly, hot tears gathered in her eyes.

"But, what about…?" The assistant suddenly spoke up but trailed off when he caught Coxswain's scorching gaze. "Sorry, forgive me…"

Lily's eyes widened. "What?" She looked at them both. Coxswain's brow was furrowed angrily while his assistant looked down at the floor. "We haven't got any time!" she snapped, growing angry. " _Tell me!_ "

Coxswain remained silent, but his assistant's face became more resolved. "There is an unorthodox procedure… experimental," the lad answered, glancing at the Head Healer from the corner of his eye. "Dark Magic… but not illegal."

Lily cringed, digging her nails into her palms.

Coxswain cracked. "It's too dangerous," he said urgently, looking unhinged. "There could… there  _will_ be  _consequences_."

Dark Magic was risky, and she didn't care what those scholars said knower days. It was an extremely unpredictable type of magic that always came with a price.

She shouldn't even be considering it, but…

Harry started coughing horrendously, spouting spit and flem.

He was going to choke and die within the hour unless something happened.

Lily took one look at him and shook her head, as tears slid down her cheek. Then, she looked back at the Healers with a cold fury that bubbled in her chest.

"Do it, now," she ordered, her magic fizzling and coiling around her.

The assistant stepped back, casting a long cautious look at Coxswain.

The old Healer looked sickly, staring at Harry for a moment before he nodded. "Please, leave the room, Meera," he said quietly, not looking up. "The procedure… you don't want to see this."

Lily looked at Harry and then at Coxswain, hesitating. "Will he live?" she asked, gauging his face for the truth…

…That whatever pain her baby might suffer, it would be worth it.

Coxswain nodded, holding his wand tightly. "He'll live."

Lily swallowed thickly as she was ushered out of the room by the assistant, keeping her gaze locked on Harry's small body until the door was shut in her face.

"I should have been there," James muttered angrily holding Harry in his arms.

Lily was sitting down opposite him in the kitchen, the three of them eating supper. "There wouldn't have been much you could have done," she said numbly, staring at her baby.

Harry's right arm and shoulder were heavily bandaged, but his skin was healthy, and he was smiling. Alive and healthy like any other baby…

"We owe Healer Coxswain a debt." James kissed Harry on the head. "How much did you pay him? I'll—"

"He wouldn't accept any money," Lily interrupted flatly, feeling cold, as she continued to stare at Harry.

James frowned, shifting Harry in his grip. "Why?"

She shrugged, swallowing. "He…um…" Her gaze shifted to James, feeling her guilt gnaw at her stomach. "He said you couldn't put a price on saving a baby's life," she lied, forcing a smile. "He's a good man."

James smiled slowly. "Not many of them left." He looked back down at their son and grinned when Harry reached up to grab his nose.

Lily's smile faded, leaning back in her chair as she watched her husband and son laugh and play.

What was the consequence…?

* * *

Lily awoke due to the sound of crying in the middle of the night.

James shifted beside her in their small bed.

Harry was in his cot at the end of the bed, crying from another bad dream. She scrunched up her eyes and buried her face in the pillow while James groaned.

"Another one…?" he mumbled sleepily, rubbing his eyes.

Lily hummed and dragged herself out of bed. "It's fine," she muttered, pushing the blankets away. "Go back to sleep…" The wood creaked when her feet hit the floor. "I'll calm him down."

"M'kay," James mumbled, burying his face in the pillow.

The small bedroom was dark, with a small filter of moonlight shining over Harry's cot.

Lily wandered over to the cot and bent down, picking him up as he sobbed. "Shhh, it's okay," she whispered, rocking him in her arms. "Mama's here…"

She quietly wandered over to the window and gazed at the moonlight.

* * *

The sun shined down on the small village, hurting Lily's tired eyes as she walked into the Healers that afternoon.

She'd need to be quick and get back home to look after Harry. James would need to be back at work in half an hour and couldn't watch their son for long.

Lily wrapped her grey shawl around her tighter as she entered the Healers, the small building was rickety and packed to the brim with potions and bizarre liquids on the shelves, and cupboards as well holding who knew what.

She walked warily to Coxswain's room, where the door was already open. "Healer Coxswain?" she called, peering around the door.

The Head Healer was busy sorting his box of potions on the table. She stopped in the doorway when he saw her. "Oh… hello, Meera." He cleared his throat and straightened up. "What can I help you with?"

She stepped into the room, re-adjusting the basket in her arm. "I need Sleeping Drought, a small dosage…"

Coxswain nodded stiffly. "Of course…" He fiddled with his gloves, avoiding her gaze. "And, how is… how is your son?"

Lily picked at her dress sleeve. "He's well…" She dug her nails into her wrist, shifting when she heard someone approach from behind. "But… he does have nightmares frequently…"

"Maester?"

She looked over her shoulder and saw a Moorish looking lad wearing dirty Healer robes come to stand in the doorway; he was bald, had dark skin, and a long nose.

He glanced at Lily warily and quickly looked back at Coxswain.

She frowned and stepped further back to let him in the room.

"Ah, Mosi, come in." Coxswain gestured for him to come, as he walked over to the shelf. "Grab the coin bag."

"Right away." Mosi nodded and walked into the room, catching Lily's eye again. He walked over to one of the right cupboards and opened it, taking out a heavy looking brown bag.

Coxswain searched the top wooden shelf next to the window. "It'll be a sickle," he said, taking a small blue bottle from the shelf.

She smiled faintly. "Thank you." She fiddled with the money, taking a sickle out of her robe pocket. Mosi stepped forward, opening the bag for her. Lily dropped the sickle in the bag and smiled at him. "I didn't know you had more than one assistant." She glanced at Coxswain as he handed her the bottle.

Mosi frowned, looking over at Coxswain whose brow had furrowed.

Lily's smile faded as her hand enclosed around the bottle and held it close to her chest. "What?"

Coxswain hesitated, looking at her oddly. "I don't have another assistant," he said slowly.

She frowned deeply and opened her mouth to speak but then closed it, stepping back. "…Yes, you do," she replied steadily, looking back at Mosi. "He had blue eyes, he was here when I brought Harry in."

Mosi's brow knitted as he stared at her. "…No, I was there when you brought the child in."

"No…" Lily shook her head. "No, the other assistant was the one who suggested we…suggested how we heal Harry."

Mosi shook his head slowly, while Coxswain looked troubled. "There wasn't another assistant, Meera." He gestured to the lad. "Mosi was the only other person there."

Her stomach twisted, as the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. "Then, who suggested the procedure then?"

They had to be lying.

Coxswain paused, glancing at the table briefly before he looked up. "I did," he said, nodding along. "Yes, I suggested it."

Lily felt sick, shaking her head more vigorously. "You're lying." She pointed at them. "That's not what happened."

"Yes, it is," Mosi said hesitantly. He inched back a little. "Are you…alright?"

"I'm fine!" Lily snapped, louder than she meant. "I  _know_  what happened."

Coxswain raised his hand placating. "You're just still shaken from what—"

"No, I'm not," Lily interrupted sharply. "There was a different assistant when I came, that's a fact." She tried to calm down. "So either someone's meddled with your heads or you're lying to me."

Had they done something to the other assistant?

"There wasn't another assistant!" Coxswain insisted, balling his hands into fists. "Mosi, was right there when we did the procedure."

"I applied the healing potion on with my bare hands," Mosi said, shaking his hands to enunciate. "There wasn't anyone else."

Lily looked at them both, feeling out of breath and flushed. "But…" She looked at them both intently, wanting to believe they were lying, but they sounded genuine and even looked it.

A small slither of doubt tried to edge its way into her head, but she shook her head.

No, she knew what had happened.

Mosi had not been there that day; that was a fact…

"Perhaps, you need a calming drought, to settle your nerves, yes?" Coxswain moved around the table, smiling meekly.

There was a terse silence.

Lily narrowed her eyes and backed away, shaking her head. They weren't going to believe her no matter what she said, or worse, they'd brand her insane and cart her off. She needed to leave this, they couldn't afford to bring too much attention o themselves, not now…

"No, I'm fine…" She looked away, stuffing the Sleeping Drought in her pocket. "Just forget I was here."

Coxswain opened his mouth to protest, but Lily turned away and hurried out of the doorway.

* * *

Harry slept soundly in his basket as Lily carried him outside into the garden, the other basket, full of wet clothes, floating behind her.

There were clouds blocking out the sun this morning.

She glanced at the ground for a second, before she held his basket tighter and looked over at the wall opposite; he'd be safer up there than on the ground. Lily walked over to the wall while the clothes basket followed behind her. She gently placed Harry's basket on the wall, smiling at him warmly.

She gently placed Harry on the wall, smiling at him warmly.

He stirred in the basket, making a low mumbling noise as he lifted his chubby little hand to his mouth. His right side was still bandaged, but it was healing quickly.

Lily lifted the blanket up to his chin and then turned back to the clothes line. She grabbed the clothes basket from the air and started to shift through the washing. She took out one of her brown bodices and then placed the wet clothes basket on the grass.

She looked around uneasily as she pegged up the bodice. It was quiet today, but it didn't feel peaceful just unusually silent.

It was quiet today, but it didn't feel peaceful just unusually silent. There was no one else here, but… by the Gods how long was she going to be able to keep this from James? Lily gripped the clothes line tight.

Harry's nightmares seemed to just be getting worse, and the only thing that would calm him was the Sleeping Drought, but even that would only last temporarily.

She rubbed her eyes and sighed, as the wind blew strands of her hair in her face.

Then, quietly, she heard a low hissing noise.

Lily frowned and looked at the ground, looking for snakes, but there weren't any. Her frown deepened as the faint hiss continued, it sounded odd and not as menacing as a snake's, but instead more clumsy.

She took a step forward, listening closely until her gaze landed on Harry - he was awake and had his hands stretched out towards the sky. "What is…?" she muttered, walking over to him. "Harry?" she spoke warily, hesitant.

Harry was making odd gargled hissing noises...

That was…odd, but babies did tend to mimic noises.

Lily tried to brush it off and walked over to her baby, reaching out to pick him up. "Harry…?" She froze when she heard louder hissing, hissing that was definitely not coming from her baby.

Apprehensively, Lily stepped closer and slowly peeked over the wall, while Harry looked up at her and smiled.

The colour drained from her cheeks and her eyes bulged. "Oh my God!" she screamed, snatching Harry from his basket in horror.

There were piles of small snakes trying to crawl up the garden wall.

Lily jerked back, burying Harry against her chest as her shoulders shook.

In the distance, she heard a crow.


End file.
